


The Lion Within

by IAmTheQueenofMyself



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fires, Gen, Insanity, Inspired By Tim Burton's Batman Returns, Ringo Goes Apeshit, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheQueenofMyself/pseuds/IAmTheQueenofMyself
Summary: Richard loses it; he creates an alter ego of himself.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	The Lion Within

“Honey, I’m home,” Richard called out into his apartment, dropping his coat onto the floor. 

However, as he turned on the light, he figured, “Oh wait, I’m not married…” 

The young man walked to the closest lamp and flicked it on, unknowingly tipping it over. Feeling rather parched, he walked to the fridge, opened up a carton of milk, and knocked it down his throat, streams of it falling onto his pinstriped suit. Richard walked past his couch, patting the purple stuffed octopus that sat on it, straight to the answering machine on one of his tables. When Richard clicked, he heard the voice of his rather concerned mother. “Richard, this is your mother, please call me,”

Richard groaned, rolling his eyes as he pressed again. Once more, his mother’s voice erupted. 

“Richard, why haven’t you called me back?” 

Richard tapped the machine a third time, hearing a much different voice that sounded—at least to him—rather mocking. 

“Richard Starkey, we are calling to make sure you have tested London’s New Spice Cologne—aroma so enriching that even your boss would want you to stay for an ale staff meeting for two. Courtesy of Caldwell Department Store.”

“NOOOOOO!” Richard threw the milk carton at the machine will all his might, cringing right at it. He grabbed the answering machine and furiously bashed it against the table. Pieces flew from the device, the young man throwing it onto the ground and stomping on it with his right foot like a centipede. The young man screamed at the ceiling, feeling pure rage flowing through his veins. He grabbed a stuffed starfish, seahorse, and blue tang that was right by Mr. Octopus and tossed them into the waste bin, grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbed them as if they were helpless victims, letting cotton and fur fly into the air. Richard snatched up a lighter and tossed it in, letting ghosts of flames scorch the stuffed animals as if they were firewood. Smiling vilely, licking his upper lip and teeth, he watched the flames dance up in the air before bellowing an ever so evil cackle. He grabbed one of his skillets and furiously smashed it against two framed portraits, one of a starfish and another of his mother, stepfather, and himself as a child together. Richard swung the skillet at a shelf where several ceramic fish were positioned at. 

If Mr. Octopus could speak—‘What is wrong with this guy?’—referring to the twenty-four-year-old who was ransacking his own apartment. 

Richard picked up a can of black aerosol and sprayed a long line across his light blue and white walls, heading straight for his enormous closet; the young man opened it hurriedly and gazed at the coral print tee on his right-hand side; he growled, rapidly spraying black paint over the design and shirt itself. He pushed the shirts that were inside of it to the side, picking up a dark brown leather jacket, the same color leather gloves, a dark beige fur coat, and a black and golden lion masquerade mask. He then marched into his room, knocking down the large picture of the Atlantic Ocean off his wall with the hand that held the can. 

Tongue in between his teeth, Richard sprayed one of his toy trains on his set on the table before shoving it to the side, to the floor like everything in his apartment. He set the jackets and mask on the table, before pulling out a sewing box from underneath. He pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped a panel off the left sleeve of the fur coat. He then found himself sewing the piece onto one of the gloves, making it appear remarkably like an animal’s paw. Richard stuck his hand within, letting his fingers and back of his hand stretch and breathe underneath the fur. Something was obviously amiss though. The claws. Richard looked and saw some medium-sized, stainless steel nails at the bottom of the box and figured they would suffice, holding one up in his gloved hand. 

… 

Richard found himself standing before his window, lifting his arms up. The mask was secured to his face, covering his cheeks and a good portion of his oddly large nose, leaving only his mouth open. Fur had been attached to the upper edge and sides of his mask, making Richard’s head appear much like a real lion’s head. Fur was sewed onto the collar of his jacket, around the waist and cuffs, and around the ankles of a pair of dark beige pants that he found, along with a pair of nice, brown, cowboy boots. Richard held his fingers before himself, admiring the nails that he attached to the glove’s fingertips. 

“I don’t know about you, Mr. Octopus, but I will call myself, Lazarus.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment away; will be happy to fix any mistakes.


End file.
